


tell me all the ways to love you

by lazyfish



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Romantic Comedy, Background Isabelle Hartley/Victoria Hand, Brother's Best Friend, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Sharing a Bed, background Huntingbird - Freeform, background Philinda, fake engagement
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:55:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24916465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazyfish/pseuds/lazyfish
Summary: Leo Fitz’s father is dying of cancer, and his only regret is he’s never met the person Fitz is going to marry. Enter Jemma Simmons, recently single and Fitz’s best friend’s little sister. They agree to fake an engagement to keep both their families happy, but things quickly grow more complicated than either of them are prepared for.A One Small Hitch AU.
Relationships: Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Comments: 45
Kudos: 69





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AgentOfShip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentOfShip/gifts).



Jemma was having a terrible, horrible, awful, no good, very bad day.

She was crying alone in an airport bathroom, and unfortunately that wasn’t even on the top of her list of bad things. Her bridesmaid’s dress looked like a garbage bag on her, but that wasn’t the top of the list, either. Her _boyfriend_ was apparently married to another woman, and she hadn’t even known! And she would have never known if she hadn’t run into Milton’s wife’s best friend at the airport in a freak accident. A part of Jemma thought she ought to thank fate for being kind to her and letting her know she was with the wrong person before she did something stupid like try to marry him, but…

Jemma buried her face in her hands, stifling another sob. In two hours she would be flying across the country to attend her mother’s wedding, pretending everything was fine and she hadn’t just had a mental breakdown, but right now, she needed something to go right.

Nothing would ever go right if she didn’t make it. _The steps you take don’t have to be big_ , her mother had always told her, _they just have to lead you in the right direction._

Step one: stop crying.

Step two: leave the bathroom stall so she didn’t start crying again.

Step three: undetermined.

Jemma wiped at her eyes, all too aware of how red and puffy her face was. Maybe step three would be making herself look presentable so when she met up with Hunter’s friend in the airport he wouldn’t think she was crazy. When she had agreed to fly across the country with her brother’s best friend, Jemma had expected to have Milton there as a buffer. Now she had no buffer, and would have to explain the lack of her mystery man to Fitz, and…

Jemma groaned. Her mother was expecting her to bring a boy home, and she didn’t have a boy any longer. She didn’t know which was going to be more miserable - having to admit she was stupid enough not to realize her boyfriend was married to someone else, or having to attend her own mother’s wedding alone.

Her reflection in the bathroom mirror didn’t have the answer. Jemma swiped at her face again, glad she hadn't been wearing any makeup in preparation for the long-haul flight. She would’ve cried it all off by now, and then it would be streaking and she’d have to reapply it, and it all seemed like too much of a hassle.

After splashing enough cold water to drown a lesser woman, Jemma felt marginally better. She blotted her face dry with a paper towel, tucked a few damp strands of hair behind her ears, and marched out to the terminal. 

It really shouldn’t have surprised her when Fitz was sitting at the bar, nursing a glass of scotch. It should have surprised her even less when he wasn’t alone; Jemma’s older brother was a womanizer (or rather, had been), but so was his best friend. When Hunter had gotten married and settled down, Fitz had redoubled his efforts, as if he needed to sleep with enough women for both of them. Jemma heaved out a sigh - another strike against today.

She settled herself at one of the tables near the bar, refusing anything but a glass of ice water when a waiter came by for her. She wasn’t going to wake up from her red-eye jet lagged _and_ hungover. With any luck, Fitz wouldn’t either, but Jemma couldn’t guarantee that. She wasn’t Fitz’s keeper, and she certainly wasn’t going to keep him from alcohol. Getting in between a Scot and his bottle was perhaps the only thing that could make today even _worse_.

Jemma chewed on her lip thoughtfully, wondering how much trouble she could get Fitz in with her brother if she was careful about her choice of words.

Her thought quickly flew out the window, though, when Fitz began gathering his things and walking out of the bar, the woman on his arm. _Oh, no he didn’t._ Jemma dragged herself out of her seat, stalking across the bar despite the protest of her tired muscles. 

“Where are you going?” she asked Fitz once he was in earshot.

He gave her a significant look. “Out.”

“There’s no way you’ll get back through security in time!”

“I’ll just -”

“You are _not_ taking the next flight out, Leo Fitz!” Jemma hissed. “My mother is getting married at _your_ mother’s house, and you cannot be late!” She couldn’t believe Fitz was even considering this stunt! He had to know how much the wedding meant to his mother, who just so happened to be Jemma’s mother’s best friend. He had to know how much the wedding meant to Jemma - and more importantly, how much it meant to Hunter.

The woman on Fitz’s arm blinked at him. “Do you need to stay?”

“No,” Fitz insisted, at the same time Jemma was saying, “Yes!”

The woman looked uncertain, but eventually slid her hand out of the crook of Fitz’s elbow. “I don’t deal well with jealousy, Leo.”

Jemma only barely managed to keep her eyes from rolling out of her skull. The only people who called Fitz by his forename were the people who wanted to shag him, and it was tiresome.

“She’s not jealous,” Fitz said. “She’s just my mate’s little sister!”

 _I’m the same age as you!_ Jemma wanted to say, but it was too late - the woman was already walking off, her heels clicking against the tile floor of the airport, and Fitz was glaring mutinously at her.

“Hunter would be angry if you were late.” Jemma tried not to cower under the power of Fitz’s gaze, but he felt like a thunderstorm, his energy crackling through the air like lightning while he continued looking at her with stormy blue eyes.

“Hunter’s gone soft,” Fitz muttered as he stalked back over to the bar.

Unperturbed, Jemma followed him. “You know, instead of feeling sorry for yourself, you could feel sorry for me.”

“And why would I feel sorry for you, Simmons?”

“Don’t call me that!” Jemma snapped. She hadn’t been a Simmons for years, and she didn’t want to be. She was her mother’s daughter - a Hartley by everything except blood. She didn’t enjoy being reminded of her birth parents.

“Sorry.” Fitz at least had the decency to look ashamed by his slip of the tongue. “Really, Jemma. Why are we throwing you a pity party?”

“Remember how I was supposed to bring someone home?” Jemma asked, arching her eyebrow. She was sure Hunter had mentioned it to Fitz no less than a dozen times. He was doing the stereotypical older-brother routine, probably because Jemma didn’t have a father to give the shovel talk to any prospective boyfriend. As if their mum wasn’t scary enough for two people.

Fitz looked around, just now noticing Jemma was unaccompanied. “He beg off?”

“He’s married,” she said flatly.

“Christ.”

“Yeah.” Jemma sighed. “I just want our plane to get here so I can go to sleep and forget about how awful today has been.”

Fitz slung a companionable arm around her shoulders, leaning over on his bar stool so he could reach her. “At least tomorrow can’t get any worse?”

Jemma cringed. “Yes, telling my mother I don’t have a date for her wedding is going to be a picnic.”

“You know she doesn’t care about that rot,” Fitz snorted. “A traditionalist wouldn’t be over the moon to have her son elope, would she?”

Jemma shrugged noncommittally. Hunter’s elopement had been a _colossal_ deal in her mother’s social circle, but her mother had been, as Fitz said, ecstatic. Personally, Jemma thought that was more because she was afraid Hunter never would find someone to settle down with and was happy he had made it to the altar at all - but she wasn’t about to go sharing that with Fitz.

“Either way, not having a date won’t end you. We didn’t even know who the bloke was supposed to be.” As much as Jemma hated to admit it, Fitz’s words were comforting. If she had hyped Milton up as much as she’d originally wanted to - a biochemist with a doctorate who also played in a string quartet in his free time! - they’d be even more disappointed in his absence.

Jemma leaned into Fitz’s side as best as she could while still maintaining her balance on the stool. “Thanks.”

“Welcome.” Fitz paused. “Are you going to fall asleep on me?”

“No,” Jemma insisted, fighting back a yawn. “I’m simply enjoying the company of my friend.”

“Are we friends?”

“We’re not _not_ friends,” Jemma answered diplomatically. Truthfully, she’d always thought of Fitz as Hunter’s friend first, which was silly, since they were more similar in age, and had more common interests than Fitz and Hunter did. It was just dumb luck Fitz and Hunter had met first and her older brother had laid a claim to Fitz.

“Go to sleep,” Fitz sighed. “I’ll wake you when we’re boarding.”

Jemma sighed. She didn’t want to agree with him, but there was only so much moping a woman could do without feeling wrung out. An airport bar wasn’t the best place for a nap, but neither was an airplane. Jemma suppressed a shiver; she had hated falling asleep in moving vehicles since she was a child. Waking up in a different place than she had fallen asleep was a distinctly unpleasant experience.

Her head lolled further against Fitz’s shoulder, and despite the less-than-ideal location, soon she was asleep.

\---

Sitting in an airport bar with his best friend’s little sister asleep on his shoulder wasn’t how Fitz had envisioned spending his Friday night, but Fitz had faced greater disappointments in his life. At least Jemma smelled nice, which was more than he could say about half the people who ended up asleep on him in bars.

He flagged the bartender down and bought himself an overpriced whiskey that would at least help the time pass by a bit quicker.

Just as his drink arrived, Fitz’s cell rang, and he fished it out of his pocket as quickly as he could without jostling Jemma too much. She was still asleep when he answered the phone, which was nothing short of a miracle.

“Hi, mum.”

“When’s your flight getting in?” Fitz smiled to himself. His mother had never been much for small talk; playing nice with the school and other parents had always been his dad’s job. It was nice to know some things didn’t change whether he was six or twenty-six.

“We’re delayed by… two hours, I think,” Fitz said, glancing up to the screen in the terminal. He couldn’t make out the numbers from this far away, and moving closer wasn’t an option.

“Okay. I’ll be meeting you at the airport.” The words his mum were saying made sense, but her tone didn’t. She sounded… upset. Worried. Neither of which were typical for her, and even less typical for her to show in any way.

“Mum? Is everything alright?”

“Your father and I just have some news we need to tell you when you get here. It’ll be fine, sweetheart.” Now alarm bells were really going off. Fitz’s mother had never been one for pet names - she was Melinda May, The Cavalry (even if she hated that nickname), and she didn’t do affection the way most people did. She would much rather show she cared about someone with actions than words.

“What’s wrong?” Fitz asked. Hunter would’ve told him if anything was wrong at home… unless Hunter didn’t know, which was a possibility.

“We’ll tell you when you get home,” his mother said.

“No, you’re worrying me!” Fitz insisted. “You can’t just tell me you have news like that and say I have to wait another two hours and a plane ride to hear!”

“Give me a moment,” his mum sighed.

She had a muffled conversation on the other end of the line, and when someone came back on the line, it was his father.

“Hey, buddy.”

Oh no. Buddy was bad. Very bad. The last time Fitz had been called _buddy_ was when his dog died in high school.

“Hi, da. Is everything okay?”

“No, Fitz. No, not really.”

Fitz’s stomach dropped into his toes. He glanced over to Jemma, but she was still asleep. Good. She didn’t need to hear this conversation.

“I wasn’t feeling well earlier this week, so I went to the doctors. He, um… he found a lump.”

Fitz swallowed hard. “A lump?”

“Yeah,” his dad answered quietly. “It’s exactly what you think it is. The big C. And not the Captain America big C.” Fitz almost managed a chuckle, since his father’s obsession with Captain America was the _last_ thing he was thinking of at the moment, but his throat was too closed up for it to sound like anything other than a strangled noise.

“You have cancer?” Fitz asked, choked. He couldn’t think of any other logical explanation, but just this once, Fitz wanted logic to be wrong. He wanted his dad to be thinking about something else entirely, he wanted -

“Yeah.” All Fitz’s hope evaporated in one instant, and he wiped at his eyes furiously when he realized he was crying. “They don’t… the docs say I might not have much longer.”

“I - okay. What can I do?” He had to be able to do something.

“We’ll talk more when you’re here, Fitz,” his dad said after a long pause. “Don’t let this ruin your weekend, okay, buddy?”

“Dad. I need you to tell me something I can do. Please.” Fitz couldn’t spend the whole plane ride just _thinking_ and not being able to do anything. He knew that was why his mother had wanted to wait to tell him until he was home again, but he could’ve thought of a hundred disastrous scenarios on the plane ride and none of them would have touched this. His _dad_. Fitz had been adopted when he was just a baby, and had been told his birth father wasn’t a nice person - his birth mother had given him away so he wouldn’t grow up with his birth father as a father - but when he heard _dad_ , he never thought of his birth father. He thought of Phil Coulson, with his nerdy jokes and his comics collection and his mounds of history books.

“There’s nothing you need to do, son. I only have one regret, and you can’t do much about it now.”

“What’s that, da?”

“I just regret I’ll never meet the person you’re going to marry someday.” Of course weddings were on everyone’s mind, with the weekend’s festivities, but Fitz hadn’t been expecting that bombshell.

He took a deep breath, ready to lament the same, but then Jemma let out a tiny snore. 

Fitz looked at Jemma, then at his untouched whiskey, and then at the ceiling. Oh, he was going to go to hell for this. But it would make his dad so happy, and Jemma loved his dad, so… “What if I told you you already had?”

\---

Jemma woke up to an even grumpier Fitz and a strange environment.

“Why are we on the airplane?” she hissed to him. She had no idea how he had gotten her onto the plane without waking her up, but Jemma didn’t like it, especially since he had promised to wake her up.

“Because it was leaving. Unless you’d like me to leave you behind?” he whispered. Jemma turned just enough to see the woman sitting on the other side of her - Fitz had given her the middle seat, ugh! - was fast asleep, as were many of the other passengers surrounding them.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Jemma, do we really have to do this now?”

“Do we - yes, Fitz, I’d like an explanation for how I got onto the plane before we land!”

“You were half-awake, you leaned on me, we sat down! The end!”

“Why are you being so _mean_?” Jemma asked. It wasn’t atypical for Fitz to be crabby, and she knew she hadn’t put him in the best situation by falling asleep to him in the bar, but if he had had a problem with it he could’ve woken her up instead of snapping when she woke up on her own accord.

“Because my dad has cancer!”

Whatever retort she had died on Jemma’s tongue. “Oh my goodness. Fitz, I’m so sorry, I had no idea -”

“Neither did I. My mum called when you were asleep.” Fitz’s eyes were watering, and Jemma looked away. He probably wouldn’t like her seeing him cry. He probably hated he was crying in public at all, if he was anything like Jemma.

Suddenly her problem with Milton seemed rather small. But maybe they could approach the problem in the same way?

Except there were no small steps to take when it came to cancer, and right now didn’t seem to be the time to bombard Fitz with questions to figure out what the right next step would be. Everything was still raw, and he needed a friend.

Well, as she had said, they weren’t _not_ friends. So maybe Jemma would suffice until Fitz could talk to someone who was actually good at comforting people.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Actually… I need a favor.”

“Anything!” Jemma said earnestly.

“I… I told my dad we’re getting married.”

“ _What?_ ” Jemma hadn’t really had that in mind when she’d said anything. She had thought he’d ask her to bake cookies or something!

“He said his only regret was he hadn’t met the woman I was going to marry! And I kind of panicked and said he already had and that I was marrying _you_ and that was why you wouldn’t tell your mum who you were coming home with, and -”

“Fitz,” Jemma interrupted. “I need you to stop talking for a moment.” She needed time to process what he had just said - all of it. She hadn’t actually stopped to think about what Fitz’s father having cancer meant for _everyone_. Fitz’s mother and hers were best friends, and of course it was going to be devastating when they found out, and could Jemma really pretend to be engaged to _Fitz_? When they were in high school there had been a fair bit of teasing because she and Fitz had both been the most bookish of their graduating class, but it had never been _serious_.

Except Jemma had once imagined what it would be like to date Fitz. But that was just because she was a teenager and teenagers thought about things like that. It had never been a serious possibility, because Jemma’s brother was Fitz’s best friend and that had to be a violation of bro code, didn’t it? Fitz hadn’t thought about that, she would guess. When confronted with his father having cancer, Hunter was probably the last thing on Fitz’s mind.

“You’re right,” Fitz said, even though Jemma hadn’t actually said anything since her request for silence. “This was a stupid idea, and I shouldn’t have done it without asking you first. We can just tell them when we land that it was all a misunderstanding.”

Jemma opened her mouth to protest, but Fitz seemed to have his mind made up, and he was as stubborn as a mule. Not to mention, protesting would give him the wrong idea about how she felt about him. 

“If that’s what you want,” she said finally. 

Fitz didn’t answer, and Jemma began digging around in carry-on for a book to pass the rest of the flight by.

\---

Fitz sent his mother a text when they landed, and she responded to let him know she was already at the airport and waiting for him. That was a relief. He had one other text, as well.

_[Hunter]: Bob fell asleep on me so I won’t be making it to welcome you back. What’s this I hear about big news?_

It was good he had called off the whole fake-engagement - Hunter would’ve been pissed if he showed up, apparently engaged to Jemma, and this was the first he was hearing of it. He and Jemma exited the plane together and were on their way to baggage claim when -

“Congratulations!”

A wave of people descended onto them - Fitz’s parents, Jemma’s mother, Jemma’s soon-to-be-stepmother, and more friends of the family all crowded around them, babbling happily about the engagement and how they had no idea (but also definitely knew it was bound to happen, eventually, him and Jemma getting together). His mother was holding a large gold foil balloon spelling out ‘congrats’, and Fitz’s father grasped his hand tightly before pulling him into a hug.

“Yes, yes, we’re very excited!” Fitz picked Jemma’s voice out of the crowd, and she seemed to have gotten the memo they couldn’t back out now - not when everyone was so excited and his dad looked so _happy_. Other people in the terminal area were glancing their way, and even random strangers were smiling because the scene seemed so joyous.

Fitz couldn’t take that away from everyone because he had told a lie. He didn’t know how long they could keep up the charade - it wasn’t like he could ask Jemma to stay his fake-fiancée forever - but at least for the weekend, they could pretend to be a happy couple.

It was just for now. They could let everyone else be happy, just for now. 


	2. Chapter 2

Fitz wasn’t entirely prepared for how many people were gathered at his parents’ house. He knew there was supposed to be a big party to celebrate the wedding, but his idea of a big party and his parents were different by at least one order of magnitude.

There were relatives he recognized, family friends he had a vague recollection of, and then a huge swath of people he had no idea about whatsoever.

“Do you know who that was?” Fitz muttered under his breath to Jemma after someone came up to congratulate them on their engagement (or “engagement”, as Fitz preferred to think of it).

“Maria Hill. She’s a friend of your mum’s.”

“How come you know her and I don’t!?” Fitz asked. If Hill was his mum’s friend he ought to be the one to recognize her, shouldn’t he?

“Because I actually paid attention when your mum was talking about who would be here,” Jemma hissed back under her breath. “Are we acting like enough of a couple?”

“I don’t know, how do you reckon couples are supposed to act?” Fitz had had a couple flings, but never a serious girlfriend. He had never thought about settling down until Hunter had announced he was going to marry Bobbi, and even then, it seemed like a far-off, someday prospect - not something he was ready for (or pretending to be ready for) anytime soon.

“Ugh, Fitz!” Jemma groaned. “Just… pretend we’re friends. And we can hold hands or something.”

“I thought you said we were friends!” That probably wasn’t what he was supposed to be focusing on at the moment, but it stung a little that Jemma didn’t think they were friends. She had agreed to this scheme, after all, which had to mean something.

“I said we weren’t _not_ friends. There’s a difference.” Despite suggesting they hold hands, Jemma didn’t reach for his. Fitz took initiative, slotting his fingers through hers. Jemma’s hand was cool and surprisingly soft, and it was only when they were holding hands that Fitz remembered something horribly important.

“You’re not wearing a ring.”

“No, I’m not,” Jemma agreed. “I told our mothers the proposal was spur-of-the-moment.”

“Our mums think I proposed to you after we had sex!?”

“That was what I implied, yes,” Jemma said, seeming entirely unbothered by the story she had made up.

“We should’ve discussed our story more thoroughly,” Fitz muttered. Granted, there hadn’t been much time to discuss - last night they’d gone immediately to the hotel and crashed. It had been far too late to consider any sort of conspiracy, and by the time he’d woken up and gotten ready, it was already time to head to his parents’ house. At least he and Jemma had been at the same hotel (in different rooms, of course) so they hadn’t had to think of an explanation for arriving separately at Fitz’s parents’ house.

“We should’ve. If anyone questions our story at all we’re going to be sunk. I don’t even know what you do for a living!”

“I’m a materials engineer,” Fitz responded promptly. “You’re biochem,” he said. Hunter had given him an entire speech about Jemma and her new job when she’d moved away from home - he’d only retained about three words of that speech, but one of those words was _biochemist_ , so he was in luck.

“Yes,” Jemma agreed, apparently not impressed with his recall skills. “I’m working on a project involving enzyme kinetics, if you think that information will be helpful to know.”

“Which enzyme?” Fitz asked. Yes, he was an engineer by trade, but he had enjoyed the one biology class he had taken as a gen ed credit in uni. 

“It’s a RUBISCO variant. Not all that interesting but we’re hoping it’ll be useful if biofuels ever become a viable economic strategy.” Despite her insistence the project wasn’t interesting, Jemma’s eyes had gained a peculiar sort of sparkle when she started talking about her work. She looked different than she had a moment ago, and not in a bad way.

“I’m afraid my project isn’t quite as interesting as that. It’s -”

“Are you two done talking about science?” Fitz’s cousin, Jasper, had a shit-eating grin on his face when he came up and clapped Fitz on the shoulder. “Knew you had it in ya, kid. You two are gonna make some real smart babies.”

Fitz winced. Baby-making would not be in his future anytime soon if he could help it.

“Your parents were looking for you,” Jasper added, as if he almost forgot. Fitz refrained from sighing, but just barely - his parents looking for him had to be more important than teasing him, right?

“Come on, Jemma,” Fitz said, tugging on her hand. No way was he leaving her alone with his creep of a cousin. “Let’s go see what they want.”

\---

“Are you sure your parents have always had this place?” Jemma asked as she and Fitz walked through the front door of the apartment. Melinda and Phil had insisted this was the place they used for overflow storage for their used book shop, but it looked really, _really_ big for overflow storage, and surprisingly well-furnished too.

“As long as I can remember, yeah.” Fitz’s nose wrinkled. “You don’t really think they could buy us an apartment on twelve hour’s notice, do you?”

“I’ve learned not to question your mother’s abilities,” Jemma answered. Melinda May was kind of scary at the best of times, and it was only because her own mum trusted the other woman so implicitly that Jemma was at all comfortable around her.

“I think this is the bedroom,” Fitz said, opening the door at the end of a narrow hallway.

“There’s only one bed,” Jemma noted. The apartment was larger than she expected, but definitely not large enough for two bedrooms - most of the space went into a large kitchen and an even larger sitting area. Whoever had first owned this palace had probably had people over often.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Fitz said after an awkward pause.

“Good.” Jemma didn’t fancy the idea of having to share a bed with Fitz.

“You can get settled in, if you’d like.” Fitz stepped out of the hallway to give her a straight shot to the bedroom door. “I’m going to go over to Hunter’s, explain to him… everything.” Fitz ran a hand through his curls, scrunching his eyes shut. It was an awful lot to explain, but Jemma wasn’t going to volunteer to help; it was Fitz’s fault they had gotten into this mess in the first place.

“I can come with you if you’d like. I haven’t seen Bobbi in forever.” Even if Jemma wasn’t going to explain what was happening to her brother, she still wanted to see her sister-in-law. Bobbi always had good advice, and Jemma was finding herself increasingly in need of that.

“I was planning on running over,” Fitz said, stretching. That explained why he’d worn a tee and joggers to the party.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Jemma asked dubiously.

“Of course.” Fitz offered her a grin. “You should run with me. It’ll be fun.”

\---

“You’re _shagging_ my sister!?”

In hindsight, he should have called first.

In hindsight, he should have told Hunter everything as soon as he’d come up with the stupid plan, because having his best friend pissed at him was not how Fitz wanted to start the weekend.

“Fitz, sweetie, you’d better start talking. I can only hold him back for so long.” Hunter’s wife, Bobbi, had her arms wrapped around her husband’s waist and was holding him close to her - or at least as close as her pregnant stomach would allow. Fitz was willing to bet it was more unwillingness to hurt his wife that was keeping Hunter from breaking out of her grasp than actual inability on his part.

“Jemma and I aren’t actually together. My dad said he wanted to meet the girl I was going to marry and I had this stupid idea and we were going to call it off but then everyone came to greet us at the airport and I couldn’t just tell them it was all a lie!” The words came out in one large rush, and every time Fitz repeated them they sounded more _stupid_. The entire thing could’ve been avoided if he’d thought for longer than a minute and hadn’t allowed his guilt to push him and Jemma into this stupid fake engagement.

“And you had to pick my _sister_?” 

“She was conveniently located -” Fitz began

“Are you calling my sister convenient!?” Alright, so maybe that hadn’t been the best choice in words, but Hunter was still majorly overreacting.

“Hunter,” Bobbi said from behind him. “You know that’s not what he’s saying. Take a deep breath, babe.” Luckily Hunter did as his wife asked, and he didn’t look quite as murderous as he had a moment before.

“I’ll have you know, fake relationship or not, you do _not_ do anything to hurt her. Do you understand me?”

Fitz hadn’t expected a shovel talk after all was explained, but he didn’t think Hunter was going to let it go. “Yeah, of course. We’re being… professional about it.” Now was probably not the time to mention the apartment only had one bed.

“And why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?” Hunter asked. Bobbi was still holding onto him, and Hunter tapped her arm until she let go.

“Because there wasn’t really time.”

“You were at the party this morning, weren’t you?” Hunter questioned. “All it takes is one text, mate. Jesus. I thought you were _shagging_ my _sister_.”

“Yeah, I got that part,” Fitz said drily. 

“I was convinced you’d gotten her pregnant!”

“I had to talk him out of that one,” Bobbi added. “If I leave now will Fitz have a black eye tomorrow?” she asked her husband.

“I’m fine, love. Go rest.” Hunter kissed Bobbi’s cheek before shooing her off. She didn’t look happy to go, which meant Fitz wasn’t out of the woods yet with Hunter.

“Are you sure the pregnancy fears weren’t you projecting?” Fitz asked as he dropped onto Hunter’s large leather sofa, hoping a change of subject might keep him from getting lectured further.

“Mate, I don’t even know.” Hunter rubbed a hand across his eyes. “Some days I think I’m prepared and others I’m convinced I’m going to mess my kid up as much as _I_ was messed up before mum got me.”

Fitz made a sympathetic noise in the back of his throat. He and Hunter had originally bonded over loving football, but the fact they were both adopted had come up in conversation quickly and only made their friendship stronger. Hunter actually had memories of his biological parents, which Fitz couldn’t relate to, but he tried his best to be a listening ear. Hunter had certainly listened to Fitz complain about a hundred things he had no clue about.

And also _not_ shag his friend’s sister, because that would be wrong on so many levels. Even if Jemma was prettier than Hunter.

“Can we get my mum married off before we start psychoanalyzing me about impending fatherhood? I can only handle one major life change at a time.”

“Yeah, of course.” Admittedly, it had been weird for Fitz to watch Hunter become a real, functional adult. They had both been stupid teenagers but no one had seemed convinced Hunter was going to grow out of his stupidity. But he had, and now he was loads ahead of Fitz in terms of life, and it was just… odd. Not the way he’d expected things to end up. 

That was happening a lot lately.

“There’s another reason I wanted to talk to you,” Fitz said, suddenly fascinated with the pattern on the rug on the floor. “And it’s kind of why Jemma and I are doing this whole stunt.”

“Yeah?” Hunter prodded.

“My dad has cancer.” He was never going to get used to saying those words, Fitz thought.

Unlike Jemma, Hunter didn’t respond immediately. He sat, frozen, before leaning across the couch and pulling Fitz into a hug.

The front door slammed open and Fitz jerked back. Jemma stood there, red-faced, sweaty, and panting.

Maybe asking her to jog all the way here _hadn’t_ been the best idea.

\---

“Bobbi?” Jemma called as she reached the top of the stairs. Hunter had given her a glass of water when she’d gotten into the house but quickly ushered her away; it seemed the conversation he and Fitz were having when she came in was private.

“In the nursery!” her sister-in-law responded. Jemma padded down the hallway and to the open door of the nursery. She hadn’t seen it in person yet, but Hunter had sent her pictures every time there was a major change. It was all but finished, even though there was still four months before the baby was supposed to arrive. Bobbi sat on the floor, a pile of baby clothes beside her.

Jemma plopped down next to her and grabbed one of the onesies, sliding it onto a hanger as Bobbi had been doing with the others.

“I assume Fitz told you what’s going on,” Jemma said after a moment.

“He did. Your brother wasn’t very happy with him.”

“No. No, I didn’t expect he would be.” Jemma reached for the next onesie. If she was going to talk Bobbi’s ear off she might as well help. “And what does he think now?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” Bobbi paused. “I think it was almost easier when he thought it was real, because then he knew what he was supposed to do.”

“He thought it could be real?” Jemma asked.

“He considered it, yes,” Bobbi admitted. “I mean, you and Fitz are similar age, similar interests, you’ve already known each other for years. It wouldn’t be that big of a leap, especially since you kept talking about bringing home a mystery man.”

“Oh, right. Him.” Jemma had almost forgotten about Milton in the whirlwind of the last twenty-four hours, which was a blessing, but also a curse. 

“What’s the story there?” 

“He was married.”

“Ouch.” Bobbi winced sympathetically.

“Yes. I suppose I should’ve seen the signs, but… I really wanted him to be the one,” Jemma sighed.

“Why’s that?” Bobbi asked.

“I don’t know.” Jemma looked down at the onesie she was holding. “It just seems like everyone in my life is moving forward, and I’m… stuck.”

“You have a job you love, in a city you like. You have friends who care about you and a totally obnoxious older brother who cares about nothing more than your happiness. Your mom brags about you _all_ the time. Just because you don’t have a boyfriend doesn’t mean you’re not living a good life and not moving forward,” Bobbi said. If she’d had her hands free she’d probably have ticked each item off on her fingers, but she was too busy trying to finagle a particularly difficult onesie with sharks printed on it onto a hanger. For all Jemma prided herself on her logic and rationality, her sister-in-law always seemed to have the upper hand when it came to seeing real life with any sort of objectivity.

Jemma considered what she said, continuing to put onesies back onto hangers mechanically. 

“What if I want something else, though?” Jemma asked when they were reaching the end of the pile. “I mean, I am happy for my job and my friends and my family, but…”

“It’s okay to want somebody to love,” Bobbi said gently. “But I think you’ve kind of backed yourself into a corner here, hon. Unless you’re talking about loving Fitz?”

“No!” Jemma denied immediately. “He’s - he’s Hunter’s best friend.” That was only the first on a long list of reasons they wouldn’t work out together. He was a womanizer and he was cocky and he absolutely wouldn’t agree to date her if he wasn’t trying to please his dying father. Her even thinking about it was silly.

“I’ve noticed. But that doesn’t mean you couldn’t date him if you wanted to. Unless you missed the part where I said your brother doesn’t care about _anything_ more than he cares about you?”

“You know that’s not true,” Jemma sighed. Hunter loved her, sure, but Bobbi was the most important woman in his life. Even if she hadn’t been when they got married, with the baby coming…

“Rephrasing, then. If you wanted this, and Fitz wanted this, he’d find a way to be okay with it. Just like you found a way to be okay with me.”

“You weren’t my best friend,” Jemma argued.

“And you apparently don’t have the hots for Fitz so it doesn’t matter anyways.” Bobbi finished with the last onesie, then grabbed the stack of hangers. Jemma considered offering to help Bobbi stand, but ultimately decided she wasn’t ready to get herself on Bobbi’s bad side. She stood with surprising grace for someone who was five months pregnant and moved over to the closet in the corner, gesturing for Jemma to follow.

“The way I see it, Jemma, you just had a dud relationship. We all have them. It doesn’t mean you’re unlovable or you’re behind schedule. In fact, you’re probably doing better than most. Some people marry their dud relationship and then have to go through the whole dance of a divorce.” Bobbi stuck the hangers in the closet and turned back around to face Jemma. “Do you think your mom’s doing things wrong? She’s what, sixty? And this is her first marriage.”

“It’s different,” Jemma protested weakly. She hated being out-argued.

“Because?” Bobbi asked, hands on her hips.

Jemma didn’t have an answer.

“All I’m going to say, dear, is if you only believe you’re worthy of fake love, that’s all you’re going to get. I understand wanting to help Fitz, but if you want to have a real relationship, messing around with a fake one is only going to be a waste of time.That’s just my two cents.” Bobbi shrugged. She gave the nursery one last lookover, and must’ve deemed it acceptable, because she opened the door and waved Jemma through.

Jemma did as she was beckoned, all the while mulling over what Bobbi had said. Was pretending to love Fitz a waste of time? Probably, but she couldn’t go back on her promise.


	3. Chapter 3

Her mother was getting married.

Jemma knew that, of course, since it was the entire reason she had come home, but it felt so different, helping her mum get into her tuxedo - like it was real. Hunter was fussing with their mum’s tie while Jemma focused on getting her hair into place. Bobbi had been in to help with Jemma’s makeup, but upon seeing the chaos of the room had gone to help Vic instead.

“Jemma, love, I meant to ask you when you got home - do you want Fitz to walk you down the aisle?” Her mum picked a non-existent piece of lint off the cuff of her jacket while Jemma spluttered.

“That’s really not necessary,” she managed. The wedding was a rather small affair; she and Hunter were the only groomspeople (if they could be called that, since they technically belonged to one of the brides), while Bobbi and Jemma’s soon-to-be-stepbrother, Idaho, were the bridespeople. Adding Fitz into the mix, even just to walk her down the aisle, would just complicate things.

“I’m giving Mum away, so Idaho can walk Bobbi,” Hunter added, all picture-perfect innocence. Jemma didn’t dare stomp her foot at him lest their mother ask what was going on, so instead she pasted a smile on her face and nodded.

“That would be lovely,” she relented. 

“Why don’t you go tell him?” her mum prodded.

Jemma sighed but went to do as she was asked. Hopefully when she came back her mum and Hunter would be all ready and Jemma could focus on getting into her dress and preparing for the ceremony to start. They still had time - just not as much time as Jemma would’ve liked.

Surprisingly, she ran into Fitz almost as soon as she got out of the house. He was standing with his hands shoved in his pockets, looking altogether unimpressed with having to wear a tuxedo in the June heat.

“Jemma! I was just looking for you!” he said when he spotted her.

“You were?”

“Yeah.” Fitz stopped a few paces in front of her, then gestured with his head to the lawn at the side of the house, where there were fewer people milling about. Jemma followed him, and he only stopped when they were out of earshot of everyone else.

“I talked to my dad this morning,” Fitz announced. “And, um. He said I should give you this.” Fitz withdrew one of his hands from its pocket, revealing a black velvet box in his palm.

“Is that -?”

“My grandmother’s ring,” Fitz finished. 

“I can’t - I can’t wear your _grandmother’s ring_!” Jemma insisted, taking a step back. That was too far. They were faking being engaged, and that ring belonged to the person Fitz would actually marry someday - not his pretend-fiancée for the time being.

“He’ll know something’s wrong if he doesn’t see you wear it,” Fitz said. “Please? It’ll make him happy, and you can take it off when we’re back at the apartment.”

Jemma hesitated a moment longer than nodded, sticking out her hand.

“What?”

“I’m not putting it on myself!” If they were going to be fake-engaged, they were at least going to do it the right way.

Fitz huffed out an annoyed breath, but fumbled open the box. His hands didn’t get any steadier when he took the ring out, and before he could put it on Jemma’s finger, it ended up on the ground. Fitz huffed again, louder, as he stooped to pick it up. He dropped his knee down to steady himself as he searched in the grass, and Jemma’s heart crawled up her throat.

The first time a man was on one knee in front of her and he didn’t even love her. How awful. 

Jemma willed her hand not to shake as she continued holding it out for Fitz, and he finally managed to get the ring on her finger. It fit like a glove, and Jemma tried not to read too much into that. She was an average-sized woman with an average-sized hand, which meant statistically any random woman’s ring was likely to fit her. It didn’t mean anything if the ring fit; they were just playing pretend.

Fitz pushed himself back to standing and Jemma cleared her throat. Fitz might have succeeded in his reason for coming to find her, but she still had to tell him his best friend was an utter arse who was conspiring against them.

“My mum wants us to walk down the aisle together,” she said. “And Lance agreed it was a _fabulous_ idea.”

Fitz groaned. “I hate him.”

“That makes two of us.” Letting her brother in on the scheme had certainly been better for Fitz’s physical well-being but Hunter could be too cheeky for his own good. Sadly, as his sister, she was required to love him anyways.

“Well, alright. Do I have to do anything special?”

“I assume you just have to walk and then take your seat when you’re done.” 

“I can do that.”

Jemma snorted. “You’re an engineer with a PhD, I should certainly hope you’d be able to follow simple instructions.”

Fitz grinned at her. “I didn’t get a PhD by following instructions.”

“Do I need to remind you that I know of all the times you were disciplined for doing something horribly dangerous? Because Hunter has shared those with me.” Fitz apparently had a penchant for blowing things up and calling it engineering because he wrote about the velocity of the shrapnel. 

“And I’m sure you’ve never done anything horribly dangerous, Dr. Simmons.”

“Nothing that I was stupid enough to share with another person, no.” Jemma tried and failed to fight the flush rising in her cheeks. She had gotten into some… _bad girl shenanigans_ while at uni, but she kept the details about most of those excursions private for precisely moments like these. 

“I have to go get ready,” Jemma said. “I’ll see you soon.”

She rushed away before Fitz could begin needling her about what exactly she had done that was enough to make her blush bright red. Those weren’t stories she needed to be sharing on her mother’s wedding day.

All eyes were on Jemma the moment she opened the door. 

“Is everything alright?” she asked when she met her mother’s eyes. Her mum looked close to crying, which was never a good thing. How badly could things have gone in the ten minutes Jemma was gone?!

“We saw you and Fitz,” Hunter said, gesturing with his head towards the window. “A right romantic proposal, that was.”

“I’m sorry, Mum, I didn’t know he was going to ask, I would’ve told him to wait for another day -” Jemma began. Obviously her mother was upset her big day was being upstaged by an engagement; any bride would be.

“Sweetheart,” her mum said, crossing the room in three long strides. “I’m so happy for you.” She pulled Jemma into a hug, and Jemma’s heart sank. She was happy everyone was happy, she supposed, but she didn’t understand why everyone was accepting this like it wasn’t peculiar she was engaged to her brother’s best friend with nobody knowing they were even dating. Even Hunter had thought there was a possibility she and Fitz were interested in each other romantically, which meant… well, Jemma didn’t know what it meant.

“Thanks, Mum,” Jemma mumbled, pulling back from the hug. “Now, if you could just give me my dress, I’m already behind schedule…”

“I think that’s my cue to leave,” Hunter said with a grimace. “Don’t go making Mum cry again, would you?”

Jemma shook her head fondly as Hunter pressed a kiss to her cheek before scampering out the door, undoubtedly to go gossip with Bobbi about what he had just seen. It didn’t matter; she needed to get ready.

\---

Fitz didn’t understand why suits were required for weddings. They were hot and itchy and uncomfortable, and really, all outdoor weddings ought to have some sort of modified dress code, especially when they took place in June.

He was distracting himself from the heat by drinking yet another glass of lemonade. Hunter promised there would be champagne after the ceremony, and Fitz supposed he ought to be grateful Victoria and Izzy were trying to limit the amount of drunk and disorderly at their wedding by not putting the alcohol out too early. Still, lemonade and finger foods weren’t as fun when the only people he knew were in the wedding party and still getting ready.

“Hey, stranger.”

Fitz’s eyebrows shot to his hairline when he turned around to see a familiar face. Apparently not everyone he knew was in the wedding party.

“Daisy Johnson,” he greeted. “Long time, no see.”

“I could say the same about you.” Daisy smiled and beckoned him over to one of the standing tables dotted around the yard. “How have you been?”

Fitz shrugged. _My dad is dying of cancer and I’m lying about being engaged to my best friend’s little sister, so I’ve got that going for me._ “It’s good to be home for a little while.”

“I’d imagine. You’ve been gone for a long time, haven’t you?”

Fitz scratched the back of his neck. “A couple years, I guess.” He had left the state for his PhD and hadn’t come back since except for Hunter’s wedding and a few holidays. Fitz was trying not to think about how long he had been gone, because that was part of what had gotten him into this whole… mess. Why he hadn’t noticed his dad wasn’t doing well and why his parents apparently believed he was ready to get engaged to someone - even _Jemma Simmons_.

Not that Jemma herself was distasteful, but she was Hunter’s little sister, and Fitz didn’t know why everyone thought she would be the one to make him settle down.

“Well it’s good to have you back,” Daisy said with a cheery smile.

“What have you been up to?” Fitz asked, leaning his elbow against the table and cocking his head at Daisy. _Don’t flirt with her, Fitz_ , an annoying, niggling voice in the back of his brain insisted. Unfortunately he needed to heed that voice, because as far as anyone else was concerned, he was spoken for. Hunter probably wouldn’t take kindly to Fitz taking someone home at his mother’s wedding even if he hadn’t been fake-engaged to Hunter’s sister.

Sometimes, having friends was exhausting.

“I’ve been around,” Daisy said with a shrug. “I talked to your mom the other day, actually. She’s been looking at extending the bookstore to sell prints from local artists, too, did she tell you that?”

Fitz shook his head. His parents hadn’t talked to him much about theri store at all, which he figured was going to change sometime after the wedding. With his dad ill, Fitz couldn’t imagine his mum would be able to run the business entirely on her own. For the time being she seemed more focused on making sure the wedding went off smoothly than anything else, though.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Daisy asked. “You got kind of lost just then.”

“Just a lot going on,” Fitz said. “Maybe we can grab lunch sometime? I’m not leaving until Wednesday.”

“If you’d like,” Daisy said agreeably.

They continued catching up for the next few minutes, Daisy talking about her art and Fitz about his job, until Fitz felt a tap on his shoulder.

“We’re lining up,” Idaho said. “Time to escort your fiancée.”

Daisy’s eyebrow arched and Fitz gave her a sheepish grin. Getting engaged would be the sort of thing you brought up in a catching-up conversation… if you were actually engaged. He didn’t have time to explain himself, though, because like Idaho said, the wedding was about to start.

Fitz followed Idaho to where the rest of the procession was lining up, and his brain ground to a halt the moment he saw Jemma in her dress.

She looked _beautiful_. Fitz had never thought of her in that way before, because he wasn’t supposed to find his best mate’s little sister attractive, but there was no denying that Jemma was stunning. Her hair fell around her face in loose ringlets and her brown eyes flared gold in the mid-afternoon sun. Her makeup highlighted the elegance in her bone structure and drew attention to her lips - perfectly soft, peachy, and entirely kissable.

All that before he could even sing the praises of her dress, a midnight blue that contrasted starkly with her pale skin and hugged every curve Fitz hadn’t ever thought of her having. The diamond glinting on her finger suddenly didn’t look so out of place and Fitz didn’t have the words for _why_.

This wedding was going to be the death of him.

“Alright?” Jemma whispered when he shook himself out of his shock and offered her his arm.

“Yes,” Fitz said, clearing his throat. “You look… nice.”

Jemma didn’t respond to the compliment, just dipping her head and stepping closer to him. The compliment had probably fallen flat, but Fitz had decided that between accidentally offending Jemma with a lukewarm compliment or professing that he had just realized she was a _woman_ , the former was a smarter choice.

The wedding march began to play and Fitz did his part in walking Jemma down the aisle. The rest of the wedding felt like a blur, and Fitz wasn’t sure if it was because of the sweltering heat or how aware he was of Jemma sitting beside him. He hadn’t been able to go back to his seat by his parents, instead being pulled to sit next to his not-fiancée.

Things didn’t get any better when, after Vic and Izzy’s first dance together, the DJ called all the couples to the floor for a dance.

“I don’t know how to slow dance,” Fitz hissed to Jemma as she tugged on his hand. He could club dance (though Hunter always said he looked like a prick when he did), but slow dancing was entirely out of his element. He’d never needed to do it before.

“Just put your hand on my waist and sway,” Jemma whispered under her breath.

Fitz’s skin burned when he laced his fingers through Jemma’s, but she either didn’t notice the heat or was choosing to ignore it.

“Why do they do this?” Fitz murmured, pulling Jemma closer to him so she wouldn’t be trampled by some couple he didn’t recognize who were doing significantly more than standing and swaying.

“Celebration of love. Or something.” Jemma didn’t seem any more impressed with the dancing than he was.

“I say we should celebrate love the normal way, with a lot of alcohol.” Wasn’t that why everyone went to weddings - to get absolutely pissed? That’s what his Scottish heritage would have him believe, Fitz thought. And at normal weddings, Fitz wasn’t masquerading as someone he wasn’t. That just made him want a drink more.

Jemma snorted at his remark, a sharp counterpoint to the soft piano music still spilling from the speakers. Some great-aunt of hers gave her a sharp look, and Jemma flushed before turning back to Fitz. “I agree entirely,” she said.

“First round’s on me.”

“It’s an open bar.”

“Even better.”

\---

Jemma was floating. The bubbles from the copious amount of champagne she had drunk were running through her blood and lifting her up and making her _float_. She was pleasantly warm and the kind of dizzy that felt good instead of disorienting. Someone had taken her last flute of champagne out of her hand and she was using it instead to cling onto Fitz, who was laughing uproariously at his own joke.

“We should get going,” Jemma giggled. Everyone else they knew had left the wedding already - Bobbi and Hunter first, followed by her mum and new mum, and then the rest of the guests at a slow trickle. The only other people were a few distant relatives of Fitz’s that neither of them knew who were even more drunk than the pair of them were. 

“We should,” Fitz agreed. “I’ll call a taxi.” His elocution was surprisingly crisp for someone who was so deep in the drink, but given the stories Hunter had told her about his and Fitz’s extracurricular activities, Jemma supposed it made sense.

When they were bundled away in the back of the cab Jemma found the reality of the situation crashing around her quite heavily. She had just spent the last eight hours with Fitz, drinking and laughing and even managing one spin on the dance floor when they were too drunk to care about dancing well and sober enough that neither of them managed to fall over. She had _enjoyed_ spending the last eight hours in his company, even before they’d gotten so sloshed that she would enjoy being around practically anyone.

It did take a _long_ time to become champagne-drunk; longer than jemma would like to admit. Longer than she had ever intentionally spent with Fitz and Fitz alone, that was certain.

It was strange, to realize she liked the man she was ostensibly engaged to long after the engagement. We’re not not friends, she had told him. Tonight had changed that - Jemma most certainly considered Fitz a friend.

And maybe more than a friend, if the way he had been glancing at her cleavage all night had been any indication. He probably thought he was being subtle, too, the poor dear.

The cab ride could’ve been a reset - a time for them to remember that this was all a ruse, and they weren’t supposed to _actually_ like each other, at least any more than was necessary for their ploy to work. It could’ve been a bucket of cold water over their heads, an end to the bubbles sparkling in her chest and the slinking heat under her skin, but…

Jemma slid her hand down into the space between their bench seats, resting her palm against the faux leather. A minute later Fitz’s hand was there, too, a foot away from hers -

A few inches -

Their pinkies touched, and a shock shot up Jemma’s spine. She’d been touching Fitz all night, casual brushes of their hands and shoulders, subtle nudges under the table - anything to keep up the ruse that they were a couple madly in love with each other and not two virtual strangers playing at the same. The point being: she had been touching him all night, but it hadn’t felt like that before.

She had never felt like that touching _anyone_ before, like there was nothing but their skin and hers and the limitless potential between them.

(Jemma knew potential energy wasn’t limitless; there was an end to it, the way there was an end to everything in the universe. The sparks she felt was her hormonal reaction to being beside a man who was attractive to her, with her drunkenness intensifying the feeling. She knew all this, and yet for the first time science seemed possible to ignore in favor of more fanciful things. She wasn’t sure she liked it, but she wanted to chase the feeling anyways.)

Her fingers slid into Fitz’s, and Jemma knew they had reached the event horizon. Whatever had changed between them at the wedding was going to stay changed, and it was all because they were holding hands now.

The taxi stopped in front of the apartment and they didn’t even make it past the front door before Fitz’s lips were on hers.

He was an impressive kisser, all finesse and grace; he knew exactly what to do to make the bubbles in her chest expand to the point of bursting and direct the warmth under the surface to all the places it needed to be.

“Bedroom,” she gasped in between fervent kisses. Fitz obliged, leading them both stumblingly through the apartment. This wasn’t any more home to him than it was to her, which quelled the rush of frantic butterflies in Jemma’s stomach. She wanted to meet Fitz as his equal. She matched him in every important way, not least of all intelligence, and she _refused_ to be his best friend’s little sister right now (especially since she didn’t want to invite any thoughts of her brother into the bedroom).

“One minute,” Jemma said when they reached the bedroom. She’d packed a pair of nice lingerie on a whim, when she thought _Milton_ would still be her date to the wedding - it was better if they not go to waste. Besides, Fitz could use the time to do whatever it was men did to prepare themselves for the bedroom.

Jemma slipped off to the bathroom, changing as quickly as her trembling hands would allow her. For all the alcohol in her system she felt startlingly sober, altogether aware of what this choice would entail and wanting to make it anyways. The black silk slid enticingly over her skin when she slipped it on, and Jemma allowed herself one last appreciative glance in the mirror before returning to the bedroom.

She stopped in the entrance, prepared to make a coquettish comment she would kick herself for later, when her jaw dropped.

Fitz was _asleep_.

Jemma groaned, covering her face. Of course he was asleep; he had been drunk off his face and fueled only by lust. As soon as she left his line of sight, the drunk would overtake the horny.

She sighed and padded to the kitchen to get herself a glass of water. She would get one for Fitz, too - he’d need it come morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy engagement-versary!


End file.
